


Ending

by snowqies



Category: Broadway RPF, Wicked - All Media Types, Wicked RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abortion, POV Second Person, idina's pov, like... very angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 13:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20779412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowqies/pseuds/snowqies
Summary: A single tear slid down your face [...] This time you promised yourself to not fall in love again.





	Ending

_When you're holding my heart this way you're just tearing my heart in two_

________________

You were hopelessly in love with her, no one could blame you. After do two shows per day six days each week for almost half of a decade everyone would do it. So eventually she became your confident, your best friend, your lover. You learnt how to pass through the lies she told to everyone else, to decipher the true nature of her movements and thoughts.  
  
You discover her obsessive pace for work, and how she tries too hard to not break emotionally under a minimal problem. You’re for her when the rehearsals are intense, way too chaotic, way too shitty to hope for this musical to have a decent premiere. You become her support, your hands always finding its way to hers without even think about the action. You both act like two halves of a person that finally connected and somehow that excites you inside, wanting to know what could happen next.  
  
She began to know you as well. To know that you’re not that confident as you may seems, that when you feel insecurity and anxiety you are quiet, lonely, but that you can be like a storm when you feel good and powerful about yourself. She hears the constants fights you’ve with your fiancé over the phone. Then with your husband. Then with yourself for being this pathetic and dependant.  
  
Soon the friend-like attitude becomes something more, light touches over the clothes turns now into hard grips and your body is getting used to being pressed against hers. There’s not a term for whatever you both are doing, you do not dare to give it a proper label. All you both know is that there’s _ something _ . Dangerous, exciting, immoral. Call it what you want, too obvious for you to be a hypocrite and deny it.  
  
Now you crave for her, for her touch and kisses and voice and moans. And soon you can't trace a line to separate the subtle flirts between you and her as Elphaba and Glinda and as Idina and Kristin.  
  
For you they're all the same, finding excuses after excuses to hold her hand a little longer. Or press a kiss on her cheek, almost touching her pink soft lips. The audience will love it, ignorants of what happens after the curtain closes and everyone leaves the theater to go home.  
  
You’d go to her place and, when you make sure your husband is hours of distance, she’d go to yours. There you'll learn the number of freckles down her back and fell in love with them. You would master the act of make her come in your fingers, training her well to last all night.  
  
She’d love have her head between your legs, licking until all you can do is murmur her name in a chant, gripping her blonde hair with your nails in such a painful way.  
  
_ Kristin. Kristin. Kristin. Kristin. Kristin. Kristin. Kristin. Kristin. Kristin. _  
  
It breaks you inside every time you cries her name in such a needy tone but you can’t help it. You could never get enough.  
  
When the morning came and you see yourself lying naked next to her your insecurities came too, filling you with regret and self loathing. So you’d simply leave without wake her up or leave a note, thinking over and over about that you still have a husband to respect. And despite the undeniable fact that you’re tearing up yourself apart, you decides to keep with this mess night after night. Day after day and year after year.  
  
You came quickly to the realization that what you feel for her is love. Truly love that makes you get through this. You two learned how to know each other in levels you’d never think you’d reach with someone.  
  
And it’s perfect for a while, even when you’re crushing someone else’s heart with your actions. Is perfect because she knows how to make it. With her blonde hair and petite body too unique for you that you think you’d never find it in another person. Her delicate voice that fits perfectly yours.  
  
So this is now your lifestyle, secret kisses and touches in the safety of a dark room. You would make love to her to then go to your own house to let a man make love to you and delete any trace and hint of her. And you let it happen, too comfortable living a hypocritical life in which you tell Kristin you love her while a ring makes you stay with a man you truly despises. She makes you feel loved, he gives you safety; and you’ve had realized that you can’t have both of these things with only one of them.

  
But soon you get tired of that, drained. You hate your indecisions and her back and forth. And yet you can’t even try to leave her, feeling that you might die if you end whatever you have with her. So you begin to crush your own heart, Kristin’s too, too stubborn to finally accept that what you both are doing are wrong, early enough to cut with this from the beginning if you wanted to.  
  
But you never want to and soon she forces you to make promises you don’t know if you can even fulfil. And there comes a day in which you both stop to make promises and simply live the moment, fucking her like if there’s not tomorrow and ignoring for 2 or 3 hours the immense pain that you keep in your heart. She knows how make you feel numb and ignorant, and is a dangerous trip that you can’t simply stop and come back. 

But Kristin also knows how push you to the edge, use her anger and pressure to manage to put the whole blame on you. Like if she weren't also the indecisive one, the one living in her façade of perfect christian woman that could never do or think wrong.

Making you fall into the belief that you’re the toxic one in the relation. 

“Taye is coming for the weekend, I’m going to be busy those days”. You announces one day, voice tone is neutral as you rub baby wipes over your greenish face.  
  
“When are you gonna dump him, he hates when I’m around you”.  
  
It was a variation of the typical phrases “I can’t do this anymore if you’re with him” and “how can you go and kiss him while at the same time you tell you love me”, you’ve memorized them too well to recite each word, always staring at her baby blue eyes.  
  
“If I were him I’d hate it too”, you play with the golden band on your finger, sliding it up and down, “Kristi...”  
  
“I just need to know”.  
  
There’s an uncomfortable silence between you both. Then she suddenly asks, “I’m sorry, are we okay?” And everything you can do is pull her for a kiss.  
  
It was enough for her, for you, until the mention of your husband creates friction again, and all you have to do to calm her is murmur empty promises against her neck as your hands traced her petite body.  
  
“I am yours”, and soon she collapses, her cum glittering your fingers.

But apparently she wasn’t yours, not when one night she simply tells you she’ll leave the show, unable to give you seconds to assimilate it, you’re still painted in dark green and her exuberant pink dress makes her seem like if the words that just came of her lips were a hurtful joke.

But they weren’t. And everything you could to now is scream and fight at her.  
  
It was unexpected, just yesterday you both have had spent the day together, between Häagen Dazs flavors and romantic comedy movies. You have had hold her closer and let her listen the sound of you heartbeat, kissing her softly because after all you loved her more than anything or anyone, wanting - no, _ needing _ \- for you two to continue together.  
  
Your voice sounds raspy and doesn’t help that you’ve been singing non stop for the last two hours. She doesn't dare to look directly at your eyes and is better like this because even despite the anger you know that if she does it you could lose it and run away with her. So you keep with your façade, wanting to make her cry like she would make you cry for the next years after her departure.  
  
“I’ll not leave you”, she assures, her makeup now ruined.  
  
“You’ll leave the show”, you give thanks to God that your entire body is covered in green because you’re pretty sure that your skin has turned red under all the edible paint. “You’ll leave me. There’s no difference”.  
  
“I’m not leaving you, Idina we can...”  
  
You cuts her off, taking three steps to face her, the height difference being too obvious. “Would you then let me hold your hand in public? Or kiss you under the sunny days instead of have to hide on bars and clubs? Would you introduce me to your family and friends as your girlfriend? Tell me, Kristin. Or would you feel ashamed to do those things with a woman?”  
  
She doesn’t reply, you know her too well to know she could never do it. You know you hurt her and the selfish part of you doesn’t care about. The other part uses all your inner strength to not break right there in front of her, because is unfair and yet you can’t let her know that you’re hurt or that you’d beg her to stay even if that means you’d have to degrade yourself.  
  
Instead you look firmly to her eyes, the love you once felt for her was replaced by hate and pain.  
  
“Yeah, that’s what I thought”.  
  
You don’t attend to the final curtain call that night and after years of that fight you discover she didn’t do it neither.  
  
Probably it was better that way.  
  
  
  
  
The problem is that you never stopped loving her and at nights you get lost in the idea of her thinking about you, checking your phone in the hopefully wait of get a text from her. That’s the reason why you don’t change your phone number for the next years, always waiting for her to find her way back to you.  
  
But she never does and slowly you’ve finding ways to keep your mind busy to dismiss the thoughts about her.  
  
When someone tries to bring her back, usually - always - during interviews you answer with the phrase that you’ve memorized since that day. That you hope she’s doing it okay, that her departure wasn’t bitter and the bonds are still strong despite the years.  
  
You’ve even begin to believe it, questioning if is a lie you told solely to yourself in order to calm the feelings inside you. Because there still are, stronger than ever, consuming you with every breath you take.  
  
Time passes and the wounds are slowly begin to heal. Not completely but at least you can take care of yourself properly. You’re happily married, goodbye to the feels of regret, and in the waiting to become a mother; you have taken a break from the scenarios to consolidate your career as a non solely broadway actress and the questions about her seemed to fade from people’s minds almost like if the memories of you two together were a blurry image.  
  
For now everything is perfect, at least until a sharp pain in your stomach rushed you to the hospital and put you over a cold, sanitized surface. Your legs rest against your chest and even with the local anesthesia you swear you can feel the metal rasping your inner walls and the scalpel cut your skin.  
  
So you scream at the top of your lungs, your hands trying to rip the needle that was introduced in your left arm. You can’t take any of this anymore and for when you woke up, after being completely sedated, you found yourself alone in a white room, your belly completely flat and the smell of blood filling your senses.  
  
Is at this point when you realizes your marriage is not strong as you thought it was and you’ve had become an artist relegated to secondary roles. And when the nurse ask you for a contact number and your name - too oblivious to know you’re the unique Idina Menzel - you freezes, unsure about what to do now.  
  
You can’t call Taye. You _ mustn't _ call Taye. So that’s not an option, he has become a problem to solve later.  
  
You recall your sister leaving the city for the weekend, so worry her with your spontaneous abortion is something you prefer not to do. Your parents do not come into consideration, still resenting them for their divorce.  
  
You fear that the only number that came to your mind wasn't even assigned to a phone anymore but that’s the one you gave to the nurse, seeing how she was listening patiently for the other side to pick up, your heart beats getting faster at the sound of her voice announcing:  
  
“Ms. Chenoweth, we’re calling from the Alchemilla Hospital”.  
  
So for now you wait.  
  
  
  
  
You haven't seen her in three years but when she crosses the door there’s nothing that changed since that night. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, letting her bag in the table near to the clinic bed. She slowly approaches to you, indecisive about if take your hands into hers or simply keep her distance.  
  
You don’t have energy to initiate any contact and whatever her decisions were you’re okay with them. The silence is heavy as you thought it would be, but not for the long untold history between you two. Her eyes fell to your belly then to your face as if she were trying to see through the tiredness expression of your green-brownish gaze.  
  
“Kristi...”  
  
“Don’t... don’t talk”.  
  
She offers you an apologetic smile, her right hand shakes as she approaches to grab yours. You two stay like this for a while, probably hours, until the tiredness seems to knock off your body, crying yourself to sleep without even notice.  
  
When you woke up is late night, and you’re being carried in a cab to where only God know. The intravenous in your arm disappeared, letting instead a red squared mark due the adhesive. Kristin is right there with you, letting your head rest on her shoulder. It doesn't bother you have to low down to get fully comfortable, letting yourself simply rest there while she’s humming a song, which one? you didn’t even care, focusing on how probably there’s no one like such a soft voice like hers, missing the days when you both used to sing together.  
  
When you both reach to your condo you've hard time figuring how to walk, everything is too much for assimilate, leaving you in the middle of a fog that nublated your mind.  
  
You just got an abortion. Your husband is in any club doing you do not what. And you're being escorted to your apartment by your former friend, lover and co star (not in that exact order of importance).  
  
And when Kristin makes sure you’re okay she then approaches to the door. Without goodbyes or sad kisses as it should be, as it should have be in the last years.  
  
But yet something within you doesn't want to leave this on the air, you feel that somehow you owes her an explanation about the whys. So when her hand is almost grabbing the knob you raises your voice as much as your sadness let you, making her freeze in the room. Is dark but there’s enough light coming from outside to let you see she’s shaking.  
  
Shaking as you as well.  
  
“I tried to leave him”, your voice echoed in the room, “I wanted to do it since you first kissed me back then. And even after these years I still want to, need to, because somehow your memory is stronger than his presence, no matter how blurry or sad it might be. But if I do, if I leave him, and Kristin please tell me because I’ve begged to God or whatever exists up there to know the answer, tell me that you’d do the same too.  
  
»That you would leave all your convictions aside, your fears, the inner hate you’ve towards yourself for the simple fact of love a woman. That when I would look into your eyes I’ll be able of see purely love, instead of a mix of it and sadness. Because I do love you, Kristi. I never stopped doing it, I just learned how to live with the pain that caused me what we had. What we _ have _ , because even at this point you’re still here. You came when I felt more miserable than ever”.  
  
The scene of three years ago in your dressing room repeats again, this time more bizarre. Her silence and quietness that is loud and powerful at the same time, your body tensed in anger as much as the anesthesia effects lets you. The resignation in her blue eyes and the anger in the green yours.  
  
Kristin doesn’t talk back and you fear that you might have had hurt her, she‘s not wearing her characteristic stilettos and is considerably a inches shorter than you, giving you a position of authority.  
  
“Dee...”  
  
You don’t want her hypocrite apologize, you’ve had a lot of that shit in the past so you simply cut her off, shaking your head in a subtle way. Your brown hair sticks against your neck, wet by what you thought is sweat, as she simply stares at you, eyes full of regret,  
  
“I asked a specific question, Kristin”, you presses your arms against your chest, “I need a specific answer”.  
  
“Why bother now?”  
  
“Is better than never try it”.  
  
“Three years later...  
  
“I know”.  
  
You know it pretty well, counting the days and crying over them. You’ve cried, screamed in pain. You’ve cursed her name for leave you alone in that dressing room, broken, small and yet you never dared to hate her. Because you couldn’t, hoping that she didn’t hate you either, choosing in live in the perfect settles of a cold war.  
  
But now she’s here, you asked for her to be here and you’re finally giving an opportunity to the teenager love dreams that you both had even when you two already passed the years to do stupidities in name of love. But you both did them, facing the consequences of each one of the actions.  
  
You’re giving her something to hold on, you can’t do more than that, and now you wait for her decision, sinking your trimmed nails into your skin.  
  
Again she doesn’t reply and you hate yourself for have any hope even if it were small. You see her as she simply leaves, head down as she walks out of the apartment without even bother to close the door behind her.  
  
A single tear slid down your face, if it were for your unborn baby of her leaving you aren’t sure.  
  
This time you promised yourself to not fall in love again.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah yeah, I came like 10 years later idc.  
Thanks for read


End file.
